


Get Your Good Side

by MercurySkies



Series: Dress You Up In My Love [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fashion & Couture, Fashion house owner Viktor, Fashion student Phichit, Fluff, M/M, Romance, fashion - Freeform, fashion designer viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/pseuds/MercurySkies
Summary: A date? Ice cream? A gown worth at least 3 months rent? Despite what the glossy magazines might suggest Viktor might just be a touch ridiculous and very much smitten.





	Get Your Good Side

**Author's Note:**

> Another long wait between updates! I'm sorry but life has a tendency to get in the way and words are hard and fickle and most days I can barely speak let alone string together almost 3,000 of them into something someone somewhere might enjoy reading.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next little ditty which is all pure fluff and fun!
> 
> Title is from the song Goody Two Shoes by Adam Ant.

 

The restaurant Viktor ends up taking him to is an adorably quirky bistro situated on a street corner that seems to be overflowing with flowers. A merry bell chimes as Viktor opens and holds the door for Yuuri, guiding him inside with a gentle hand at the small of his back and Yuuri thinks his blush must match the pink colour of the sweater Viktor had insisted he didn’t need to change out of. The restaurant is busy but he’s content enough to simply observe its languid hustle and bustle, leaning ever so slightly against the arm at his back as they wait to be seated. The restaurant’s casual and cafe-like atmosphere makes Yuuri feel instantly at ease. It’s a distinctly happy looking establishment; with warm yellow walls, one side of the bistro is also lined with windows, and the cosy booths allow the patrons to watch the world go by as they dine. An old-fashioned bicycle hangs from the ceiling, front basket festooned with flowers. It makes him smile.

 

Soon enough a waitress shows them to a newly empty booth by the windows and hands them a pair of menus with a flourish. “Is this okay?” Viktor asks, his body rigid in an attempt to stop fidgeting out of nervousness. “The other places I considered are reservation only. I know someone who works at the French restaurant a few blocks over if you’d prefer fine dining, I could try to pull some strings.” Yuuri watches, astonished and amused as Viktor frets, fingers alternating between toying with his napkin or tugging delicately at his collar. “Honestly, Viktor, it’s fine. I’m much more comfortable somewhere like this. It’s lovely.” Yuuri assures him, tapping the back of Viktor’s hand lightly when he attempts to start shredding his napkin. If he let him continue, there’d be enough scraps to provide all of Phichit’s hamsters with new bedding. Viktor gives him a wry smile, blue eyes fond “I’m glad you think so.” He turns his palm upwards. Yuuri stares at it as if he’s never seen such an appendage before in his life and burns with embarrassment as, after a time, Viktor delicately slides it off the table and out of sight with an awkward little cough, eyes now downcast and intent on his menu.

 

Yuuri is saved from spiralling into a panic when their wonderfully chipper waitress sidles up to their table asking if they’re ready to order. Viktor immediately orders some sort of expensive wine, a mild look of panic and desperation in his eyes as he realises it may have been politer to let his guest order first. Yuuri waves it away and orders orange juice, surprising himself as he winks at Viktor after clarifying they’ll need two glasses for the Chardonnay. He feels jittery and light in a way he recognises as not just nervousness but also excitement. The sky is beginning to darken outside and Viktor is bathed in the warm, low lighting of the restaurant and the watery city lights beyond as newly falling rain starts to patter against its windows. It makes Viktor’s usually sharp edges look softer and it’s breath-taking. Their drinks and starters are brought to their table and Viktor’s small smile as he runs a fingertip through the condensation on his wine glass makes Yuuri take a large sip of his own.

 

“So, is it okay that we left the shoot kinda abruptly?” Yuuri asks, and Viktor looks up from where he’s been delicately picking at a plate of prawns and smiles bashfully. “I’m usually the last one there, unless I’m on a tight schedule. I have assistance on my pay roll for a reason though” he replies with a small laugh, “and it gives Phichit a chance to shine.” Viktor puts down his fork and takes a delicate sip from his glass, the actions looking strangely restrained and refined in such a relaxed setting. “He’s done exceptionally well today. I only really bought him along to help take care of the clothes and accessories, he’s really getting to grips with the other aspects of the industry. It’s a good opportunity for him to make contacts with photographers, makeup and hair artists.”

“So, it was planned?” Yuuri says, sounding dubious.

“Not quite. But I wouldn’t leave anything with Phichit that he couldn’t handle.” Viktor has the courtesy to blush at his own slight irresponsibility.

 

Viktor gets increasingly animated, gushing about Phichit and the inner workings of the shoot. It strikes Yuuri how dedicated he is, how deceived he’d been by Viktor’s sometimes suave or fanciful demeanour. The shoot had taken weeks to prepare, and Viktor had overseen it all, barely delegating tasks to his obviously countless staff, most of its logistics organised by him alone. It’s obviously something he loves and it shows as he barely notices as their main courses are placed in front of them. He doesn’t even register the second bottle of wine Yuuri orders, only thanks him politely, blush dusting his pale cheeks as Yuuri pours him a glass.

 

Viktor is rambling about a recent meeting he’s had with one of Phichit’s tutors about possibly hosting their end of year show when Yuuri finally decides to act in alignment with the warm bubbly feeling the additional glasses of wine have afforded him. “I appreciate all that you’re doing for Phichit. He’s my best friend, I’m glad he has these opportunities and that he’s had his talent recognised by someone like you.”  
“Someone like me huh?” Viktor says teasingly, propping his chin up by resting it on his hand.

“You know...” Yuuri starts, blushing, but the words start to tumble from him. “You're talented and charismatic... Handsome.” Viktor smiles and takes a shaky sip from his own glass. “Thank you, Yuuri.” Seeing Viktor shy and bashful feels like Yuuri is being granted something secret and precious. Yuuri’s experience of Viktor’s world has been fun, opening his eyes to beautiful craftsmanship but he’s unused to being open to the scrutiny of so many in such a way. Viktor seems to thrive in such a world, but without his exquisite tailoring and glittering jewellery he paints a different picture. One of a charming man, smiling tenderly at Yuuri, a photo better than those in any glossy magazine. “You’re not too bad yourself, Yuuri.” Viktor replies quietly with a smirk.

 

The wine continues to flow and before Yuuri knows it he’s watching an out of focus Viktor, Yuuri’s glasses sliding down the tip of his nose, leaning in to steal a scoop of Yuuri’s dessert. Somehow, Viktor misses and sends Yuuri’s sundae flying. The glass skitters across the table top, splattering Yuuri with ice cream of various flavours. They stare at each other in shock until Viktor reaches over to carefully retrieve a piece of wafer from Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri plucks it from Viktor’s fingertips and pops it into his mouth. “Oh my god.” Viktor breathes out but his dumbfounded expression morphs into a drunken grin as Yuuri starts laughing. “Oh my god no Viktor that won’t fix it.” Yuuri gasps out between giggles as Viktor shoves the glasses back onto Yuuri’s face and proceeds to bury him under all the napkins he can get his hands on. “I’m so sorry.” Viktor manages to wheeze out.

 

Eventually the ruckus they’re causing attracts the attention of the waitress. Viktor asks her for the check and thankfully their antics serve only to bolster her seemingly sunny disposition as she returns with it and another load of napkins in tow, a delighted grin stretched from ear to ear. Viktor woozily takes care of the bill as Yuuri continues to giggle quietly, a pile of napkins covering his lap and torso. Yuuri smiles as the waitress wishes them a goodnight, feels his heart beat furiously against his rib cage as Viktor’s smile is directed at him. He’s sure they both look a mess, there’s a blotchy flush blooming high on Viktor’s cheeks and his hair is in complete disarray and Yuuri is essentially wearing a tub of cosmopolitan ice cream. Viktor’s drunken smile is bright, infectious. He takes his hand and Yuuri’s blush is as bright as the strawberry ice cream now seeping into the cashmere of his sweater.

 

“The store is only a couple of blocks from here let's get you something to wear.” He says tugging Yuuri from the booth and the restaurant before Yuuri can suggest it really isn’t necessary. They stumble through the brightly lit streets, laughing and clutching at each other as they dance in and out of pedestrians and traffic alike. Viktor has a close call with a lamp post but Yuuri manages to yank him out of harm's way before any damage can be done to that pretty face. “Careful!” He laughs and he can feel it bubbling and warm in his chest as he looks at Viktor’s dumbfounded expression, as if Yuuri had saved him from an early grave rather than just a few bruises “You’re too pretty-” Yuuri chokes out, doubling over in laughter before he can finish his sentence. Viktor blushes in response, stammering his thanks and it mesmerises Yuuri to the point that Viktor saves him in turn from greeting the concrete of the sidewalk beneath him with a kiss on the cheek.

 

It takes a little longer than usual to get into the store as Viktor’s slightly muddled mind grinds to a halt momentarily as he tries to remember the security code so that the authorities aren’t alerted to a break in that’s actually perpetrated by the fashion brand’s owner. Viktor all but dances Yuuri through the shop, pulling clothes off the rack and draping them over Yuuri or piling them up in his own arms. He pulls things from every department, placating Yuuri with a cheery “my shop, my rules” and a heart shaped smile every time he attempts to protest. He offers Yuuri a chance to choose anything he likes. Again, he tries to decline but Viktor’s insistence is starting to border on pushy so he adds a deep red cashmere sweater to the pile, not dissimilar to the ice cream soaked pink one he’s still wearing. Despite his misgivings, almost suffocating under a mound of expensive fabric was worth it to see Viktor so unabashedly _happy_.

 

He had heard from Phichit how uncharacteristically tense Viktor had been these past few weeks but was at a loss as to how he could help. Phichit was insistent that a visit to the store would boost all their moods considerably, especially Viktor’s. Yuuri was loathed to believe him and to disrupt them all from their work, sure it would cause them more stress. The look on Viktor’s face when he’d arrived that morning made him think that maybe he should have visited, the tension seemed to ease a little when Viktor had turned that small smile toward him and a selfish part of him had hoped it was because of his presence alone.

 

As Viktor rifles through the clothes he’s hauled off the rails in one of the larger fitting rooms Yuuri wishes he could see him like this all the time, effervescent and bright, glowing with passion for his craft. The thought makes him blush profusely and he tunes back in to Viktor’s excited babbling in the hopes that he hasn’t been caught. “I mean I started in tailoring but sometimes that can get so boring so I started branching out into gowns and they’re just so much fun, don’t you think Yuuri?”

“I um haven’t really thought about it that much.” Yuuri shrugs and Viktor looks suddenly abashed.

“Oh, um sorry I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck and averts his gaze.

“I- no! I just don’t know much about all of this.” Yuuri adds quickly, gesturing to all the clothes they’d gathered together. “I think the clothes you make are really beautiful, Victor. I’m listening okay? Teach me more?”

 

He listens intently as Viktor talks about his career, his favourite things to wear and make. He frowns as Viktor complains about how asinine and fickle the industry can be. He recounts one instance where a magazine had printed a very flattering interview with Viktor, heralding his stance on fashion being for everyone and that being fashionable was simply to wear what one wanted unashamedly but followed it with an article titled ‘10 Dos and Don’ts for this Summer Season’. “In one issue, they’ll write about how great it is that brands like Nikiforov are ‘defying gender’ and in the next there’ll be a three-page spread full of arbitrary rules and advice on what and what not to wear.” Viktor says through gritted teeth and Yuuri can only nod, agreeing that such articles only tend to make him feel more and more inadequate. Viktor believes that that is something fashion should never do, and the fire in his eyes makes Yuuri believe so too.

 

Yuuri can’t stop marvelling at the way a few choice compliments can make Viktor light up. His mood sometimes elastic, bouncing from melancholy to delight as soon as Yuuri laughs at his jokes or complements the softness of a pair of wool trousers. Being the cause of that heart shaped smile and the light in those hypnotising blue eyes is addicting and is how Yuuri finds himself clad in possibly the most expensive garment he’s ever worn. Yuuri stands barefoot on a pedestal in front of the fitting room’s full-length mirror, giggling as Viktor messes around with what looks to be an offcut of some expensive silk, draped delicately over his silver hair as he does his best impression of his ridiculously glamorous grandmother. He straightens, wiping the tears from his eyes as his own laughter quiets, and just looks at Yuuri’s reflection in the glass. Yuuri is draped in opaque black fabric, an alluring ball gown that matches the raven darkness of his hair. A plunging neckline perfectly frames the gold necklace and choker he’s been wearing since the shoot that morning. The dress glitters under spot lights, flashes of gold, almost invisible star embellishments shine as the fabric of the full skirt shifts as Yuuri moves. The fabric is smooth and cool against his skin and he gathers it in his hands, swishing the skirt to-and-fro, transfixed by the movement of it, how light it is.

 

“Enjoying yourself?” Viktor asks, looking up at him. His smile is soft and fond as he circles Yuuri, taking him in from all sides. He fluffs the skirt, arranging layers of it over the sides of the pedestal from where it’s gathered on top. “I am,” Yuuri hums pushing his hair back off his forehead, “are you?” he asks.

“Of course.” He says quietly, reverently. “Shall we take a picture?” They’ve taken dozens already, Viktor’s phone must be full of them, delighted at having Yuuri in yet more of his clothes and his express permission to post the ones he likes on Instagram. Permission that is sure to make Phichit ridiculously jealous. Viktor flutters around him, snapping too many shots from sometimes questionable angles. Seemingly satisfied, he clambers up onto the pedestal resting against Yuuri’s shoulder. “We should take one for Phichit first.” Viktor says, a mischievous grin visible in their reflection. “We’ll never hear the end of it if he doesn’t get to see them before your followers do.” Yuuri hums, warmth settling in his chest as Viktor’s arm wraps around his waist.

 

Viktor takes a picture of their reflection, his chin hooked over Yuuri’s shoulder and arm wrapped around his waist, cradling him in a way that makes Yuuri blush. Viktor sends the picture to both Yuuri and Phichit. Yuuri hopes it’ll be one of the images that Instagram doesn’t get to see.

 

“It’s getting late.” Yuuri says forlornly, reluctant to leave but knowing they can’t seclude themselves away in the fitting room forever and the store opens bright and early again in the morning. “It is.” Viktor says simply, offering Yuuri a hand to help him down from the pedestal. He delicately unzips the dress and leaves Yuuri to change, a faint blush gracing his cheeks as he closes the door behind him. When Yuuri emerges again it’s to Viktor waiting for him by the front door. “That colour suits you.” He says, referring to the dark red sweater he’d picked to replace his unfortunately ice cream covered one he’d worn at dinner “I’ll get you a cab.” He adds, and Yuuri tries to protest, more used to taking the train but once again Viktor insists despite his and Phichit’s apartment being only a few stops away. They lock up the shop, Viktor assuring him that he’ll take care of the mess they’ve made tomorrow.

 

He flags down a cab and as it pulls up beside them he gathers Yuuri’s hands in his. “I had an amazing time tonight.” He says quietly, his words almost drowned out by the sounds of traffic and night time revellers. “I hope you had a good time, sorry again about the ice cream.” He seems embarrassed as he apologies yet again, meeting Yuuri’s eyes only fleetingly. “I had an amazing time Viktor.” Yuuri squeezes his hands gently “Playing dress up is fun! You can be whoever you want to be.” He adds with a smile but Viktor doesn’t quite return it, looking pensive.

“And who do you want me to be? What do you want me to be to you Yuuri?” Yuuri sucks in a surprised breath, confused. Viktor just waits, eyes darting to the idling cab and back. His gaze is hopeful. “I want you to stay who you are. I want you to be yourself. Just Viktor.” Viktor looks stunned momentarily before he huffs out a shaky laugh letting go of one of Yuuri’s hands to run his fingers through his hair. “Okay.” He says quietly. He lets Yuuri step away and helps him into the awaiting cab. Before he knows it, he’s struggling for words, wanting to reassure Viktor but of what he doesn’t know. “Goodnight.” He says as the car pulls away. “Take care.” Viktor just smiles a smile that Yuuri watches fade through the cab’s rear window.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and all the awesome comments and kudos so far! I love that folk seem to be enjoying what is essentially just my self indulgent fluff. Hit me up with any suggestions or questions!
> 
> Wondering if anyone would enjoy maybe a 3 part look at the Nikiforov team attending fashion week? I have some ideas!


End file.
